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RPlog:A Friendly Drink
---- Cat's Claw Cantina -- New Alderaan: Ord Mantell The CC as some people tend to call it, is your average cantina. It doesn't try to be more then it is, nor does it try to exclude anyone. Along the right wall is a long bar that runs the length of the building. At the far end, behind the bar is a doorway that leads to the back with a small sign in several languages that reads Employee's only. Against the left side of the room are several booths, of various sizes. Each booth appears to be made of a different material. As well, each of the booths has their own personality almost, decorated in a specific theme. In the center of the room, a few tables are scattered about here and there. All easily movable should the need arise for a larger party. At the far end of the cantina a small stage is present, for when local musicians provide music, or if someone wishes to speak to the entire place. The lights overhead are bright, giving the place a decent look. Outside, a thick white fog curls along the streets. Inanna is sitting at the bar, chatting with Kesander. Sarray has just approached them (seeming a bit battle-weary). Cade hasn't posed in... "Nar Shaddaa?" Inquires Kesander, sounding vaguely curious. "Isn't the smuggler's moon always in the middle of some brawl or other?" Observes the Corellian, sounding casually amiable. Inanna takes in Sarray's comments, and then Kesander's, with interest, looking back and forth between the men. "I heard about something big over there... much bigger than usual, yes?" she inquires of Sarray. "I'm glad I missed it, if so." She notes the looks and frowns a touch, saying "I'd offer to introduce you, but," she looks back to Kesander, saying "I didn't catch your name. I'm Inanna." Sarray runs an armored hand across the back of his neck. "For lack of a better term, it was a coup." he grins weakly. "Full blown ground war and even navel action...Pirate Imperial and New Republic from what I heard." Striding into the cantina, in the company of four rather grim looking gentleman, a dark haired woman moves to stand a few feet within the room while sweeping the contents with cerulean blue eyes. The four men remain at her side for a moment before two move further into the room, leaving two to flank her on either side as she begins to move towards the bar as a slow easy pace. Her hands are tucked easily into her pockets, footsteps light and nearly soundless on the floor. "Our folks were there? Interesting," replies the Corellian to the armoured man. Shifting his gaze back to Inanna, the pilot replies, "Beysarus, Kesander Beysarus, pleased to meet you," he offers with a sort of natural nobility that oddly seems perfectly at home with his edgier military demeanor. Looking back at Sarray, the X-Wing driver says, "A coup you say? Hard to believe. So is another one of those Hutts in charge of the place? I heard Grubba had a hold on the place with an iron fist." "Quite interesting indeed," Inanna agrees with a nod. She gives Keysander a warm smile, saying "and it's a pleasure the meet you." She leaves Sarray to answer the question about the coup, keeping half an ear on the conversation, but her eyes are drawn to the group that enters. At first it's just a quick glance to see what gropu has arrived... but then her graze is drawn to the woman... giving her a good, long look. Sarray shakes his head as he shifts to lean on the bar. "Grubba is dead...the new power in place is a half-breed alien named Thanos." he tips the drink again. "Tyler Damion or some such...A Sith anyway,consrcipted us unknowing visitors into a mercenary force." he seems very unhappy when he relates this. "Grubba's forces didnt care who we were...just that we were around the Sith and thus were enemies." Continuing to move through the room, the dark haired woman pauses patiently as one of the two gentlemen flanking her says something in a low voice to her. One eyebrow arches upwards, a look of patience and faint amusement flickers through her eyes, "I believe we've been over that point already," she says in reply before taking the necessary remaining steps towards the bar that runs along the right side of the room. "Rum, if you have it, Caridan, if possible, though Corellian will suffice," is her request of the barkeep, her voice clear and soft, lightly accented but crisp as always. "Gooooood," replies Kesander upon hearing of Grubba's demise. "Never did like the Hutts much anyway." But the mention of the word 'Sith' makes the pilot turn around to face across the room. "Tyler Damion," he breathes, sounding as if the name were a curse word. "Filthy traitor," he states flatly, looking at Sarray and not, for the moment, paying much attention to anyone else. "But you say he's a *Sith*?.... But the Corellian's incredulous voice falls silent as the sound of another voice reaches his ears... one he's heard before. Inanna's attention stays more on Lynae as she crosses the room. She does break this to take a long drink (now working on her second glass, n.b.), and her eyes flick back to the conversation between the men, noting the turn it has taken... but she's still drawn toward the newcomer, taking in her request for a drink and then looking to the bartender, commenting softly to herself, "Caridan? Now there's a name you don't hear every day." Sarray chuckles and drains the glass. "According to what I saw and heard yes." he sets the glass down. "But that was then and I am here and interested in getting back into exploration." he looks at Inanna. "We could use a skilled Astrogator as well as pilot." The bar tender studies the dark haired woman briefly, his eyes squinting at her for a moment as he says, "Not sure if I carry any of that in stock," in a slow voice. 'Corellian, sure. But the stuff out of Carida is pretty hard to come by." The woman nods slightly, "I would expect that it is," she says in that same cool clear voice, "so Corellian it is then. No ice," she adds, one hand resting lightly on the bar while the other hand moves towards one of her pockets. The man to her left takes a step forward at the gesture and she turns her face to the side and says archly, "Dangerous pocket lint again?" in that condescending tone of voice before retrieving some credits from that pocket and turning back to the bar tender as he sets up her drink. Turning towards the woman as she speaks to the bartender, Kesander stares at her for several moments, his usual cool demeanor broken by sheer astonishment. But recovering, the Corellian seems to be suddenly possessed by a dark, cold antipathy. "You." He says, directly addressing Lynae. "What in the nine hells are you doing here?" He demands, his ice-blue eyes locked on Lynae, his hand swiftly deploying his DY-255, its muzzle stoping where it is pointed directly at the Imperial Naval Officer and scientist. Inanna looks back toward Sarray as he addresses her, interrupted from her observation of the guarded woman. An eyebrow immediately arching up in mild surprise and curiosity. "Really?" she inquires, taking a moment to consider the comment. "What kind of ship you using? And more importantly, would you be able to trust me at the helm?" She gives one interested glance back and forth between Kesander and Lynae, but quickly returns her attention to Sarray. Sarray chuckles. "If the flight goes bad it would be your neck as well as the crews." he regards the drawing of the blaster. "I think she is under guard...blasters in public places get messy no?" The two men flanking the dark haired woman step forward slightly, making their presence more apparent, "Sir," one of them says in a low voice, trying to draw Beysarus's attention away from the woman. The woman herself remains focused on the bar tender as she pays for her drink, accepts it, and takes a measured sip from the golden contents before turning slightly to the side. Her blue eyes sweep from Kesander's face down to the blaster her has aimed at her, "What breed is that, a DY?" she inquires in a blandly neutral voice. She sips again from her drink, "Enjoying a glass of rum, of course. Certainly that's obvious. Nice place you have here, by the by. New Alderaan is a lovely name," she remarks with a faint smile on her face. There's an unspoken challenge in her voice, one eyebrow arching upwards as she studies the first Lieutenant. The guard to her left again says, "Sir, Lieutenant, we've been ordered to keep an eye on her, sir." The cantina doors slide open silently as Ohao enters. He takes one step inside, just enough to allow the doors to close again, and takes a look around as if looking for someone in particular. His gaze stops immediately when he sees the drawn and aimed blaster. Not being a big fan of blasters in any setting, he quickly ducks behind a nearby Bothan and peeks out around his shoulder, just in case anything interesting happens. Drake walks into the Cantina, a few seconds after Ohao. He takes his few glances around as he walks in slowly. His large eyes meet the drawn weapon and he quircks a brow. Knowing to not interfere with other peoples business, he makes his way to an empty table and sits. Kesander looks to the first guard and then to the second, perhaps recognizing at least one of them as a Marine in what passes for plain clothes. Slowly, the Corellian lowers his weapon, letting it find its natural home in the holster strapped to his thigh. "Ordered to keep an eye on her?" Asks the X-Wing driver of the Escort, sounding still thoroughly incredulous. "Not ordered to line her up against a wall and shoot her?" He asks and his words now have no hint of jest in them. The Lieutenant does not directly answer Lynae's question but looks at each of her Guards in turn, apparently expecting some sort of explanation as to how she can possibly be in this place. Inanna nods at the response Sarray gives her, saying "That's certainly true..." she's still musing over the idea, but also keeps an eye on the developing situation, what with the drawn blaster and all. "I suppose we should talk abou tit in some other place or time," she tells Sarray, draining the rest of the drink from her glass. Then she looks back over at Lynae, eyes narrowing a bit this time as she waits to see what happens. Kyrin Sh'vani isn't too far behind her newbie pilot Drake, apparently having heard where her XO has been skulking. The Chyleni woman ignores any points and stares in her direction. Being an NR poster child has its drawbacks, and she has work to do... or pilots to mind like a herd of cats or someone's redheaded stepchildren. "Sandman," she says as she passes almost blithely behind her Kesander, "there is a queue for such things, and your number in said queue is far higher than mine." Oh yes, she remembers very well as she ignores the tension for the sake of ordering a Chyleni drink... the only one ever stocked in NR space. "Thank you," she says politely to the bartender before returning her attention to the scene around her. "If you cannot be civilized to a defanged enemy, then I can certainly order an extended tour with the diplomatic corps," she adds firmly in Kesander's direction. "Now come meet our newest Ghost properly and show him true hospitality." Not quite a request in her tone as she pointedly takes her drink and then a seat at Drake's table... whether the new Ghost likes it or not... draping her wings over the back of the chair easily, the blue sails rustling with the movement. Sarray shakes his head sadly and rises from his seat. "New Republic or Imperial...they both want to kill without consideration." he gives a nod to Inanna. "Phantmon Shadow...same class of ship as the Dark Charm II." he moves twords the door. "If you survive this exchange, look me up." that said he heads for the exit. "I should have stayed in space." he mutters as he leaves. Lynae lifts her glass slightly in a bit of a salute to the Chyleni woman as her guards nod and quietly explain that they've been ordered to keep an eye on her until further orders are issued. "Perhaps they're going to save that for a national event," she suggests aloud, her tone of voice still faintly amused as she tweaks verbal tails. Seeing things settle down, Ohao figures it's safe, so he comes out from behind his Bothan shield. Once again he looks around in search of someone, but doesn't see them. He heads instead for one of the few familliar faces in the bar, the fella with the gun. As he approaches Kesander, he says quietly, "And what might that have been about, Lieutenant? Ex-girlfriend, perhaps?" Drake watches Kyrin sit down at his table and a grin comes across his face, "Hello Major" he says, his voice a little quite, apparently from being a little shy. The pilot of Ghost 7 can only nod mutely at the explanation given by Lynae's Escorts, his attitude towards the Imperial unchanging. Turning towards Inanna, Kesander nods his head, his tone more moderate than in his previous exchange with Lynae and says "A pleasure to have met you, please excuse me." Turning his attention to Ohao, he answers, "You remember all those monsters your parents told you about in all those childhood stories? The ones who ate children and laid waste to castles and kingdoms. Well none of those mythical creatures could hold a candle to that monster standing there." The word are accompanied by a nod towards Lynae. Lifting his glass of whiskey, the Corellian passes away from the bar, sparing a glare of cold fury for the guarded woman as he traverses the distance to the table where Kyrin and Drake are now seated. Inanna gives that parting nod to Sarray as he leaves, then smirks a bit at his last comment ("if you survive this exchange"). She continues to watch things as they unfold, not seeming overly concerned, but still noting that the NR pilots are moving over to a separate table. She responds to Kesander's comment with a quick smile and says, "Likewise, thank you for the drink." And since she already finished that drink, she decides to make a departure... standing and giving the other woman at the bar one last quizzical look before she turns to leave the establishment. "Oh no, the pleasure was all mine," Lynae replies to the back of Kesander's head as he turns to walk away from the bar. His comment about myths and monsters spurs a quiet, rich chuckle of amusement from her as she lifts her glass again and sip from the rum held within. The guards stationed around her give her such a look that it makes her chuckle yet again, "Defanged indeed," she murmurs, clearly amused, though the expression in her blue eyes doesn't quite match that on her face. Kyrin doesn't seem well-pleased with Kesander at the moment, judging by the severely disappointed expression on her face. The tip of her tail flicks back and forth in time with her thoughts, and finally, she says, "You give that one too much credit," gesturing with a wing toward Lynae and her dance partners, and then her grey eyes settle on Drake. "That woman over there is one of our most prized prisoners at the moment. Someone in Command is being kind while the paperwork is sorted out, no doubt." There is something... haunted about her expression as she continues watching Lynae openly, but without the cold fury on Kesander's face. There's something... emotionless there. Cold fury is one thing. Cold... indifference is another. "And if you are lucky," she adds to Drake, "You will have the opportunity to kill a number of the pilots she used to command for the Imperials... pilots who would no doubt not hesitate to return the favor. For that is what we are all paid to do." It's an almost cruel thing from the woman who survived such horrors. "And I have little doubt good Captain..., no, wait, perhaps she was promoted in the interim, ambitious souls that we are... that /Mrs./ Caiton will find a fitting end after NRI is done pumping her for intel. Probably a more humane end than their counterparts had in mind for me." Drake slowly nods his head as Kyrin speaks, looking to be a little uncomfortable with with the expression on her face. He tries to hide it by looking up at Kesander as he sits down. Drake gives the man a nod, "Sir..." he says as his greeting. "Perhaps. Ma'am," replies Kesander to the Major. "But I listened to her for hours when she was briefly our guest aboard Reprisal. There isn't much I'd put past her," he explains tersely. Turning towards Drake, the Corellian looks appraisingly at the younger man for a few moments. "Cadet..." begins the pilot, "Cadet Drake. Welcome to Ghost Squadron. We kill the enemy and destroy their ships for a living. It's about that simple. I hope you're up to the task. You have the privilege and honor of flying with the best pilots in the New Republic. I look forward to seeing how well you handle an X-Wing." Lynae chuckles yet again, "A refill, if you would, my good man," she says to the bar tender and slides her empty glass across the bar top towards the bar tender. She takes a seat at the bar, angled slightly to keep an eye on the room as well as those around the bar itself. The two men guarding her take up the same stoic silent positions, their expressions unreadable and body language proclaiming themselves to be serious about the duty assigned to them. "You will learn," Kyrin observes, her voice carrying the proper amount for the setting, "that our job is neither glorious nor gratuitous. It is one that must be done, and that is the end of it." She turns her attention and deliberately changes the topic to something else... namely her new pilot. "Where are you from?" she asks. As if she doesn't already know. It's called breaking the ice. After making a tour of the bar, Ohao finds himself at the Ghost Squadron table. He says to the table in general, "I seem to have lost my group. More preciscely, they seem to have lost me. Is this table reserved for fighter pilots or can anyone sit here?" Drake turns his head back to Kyrin, "I'm from Mon Calamari, ma'am" he says, his voice losing some of it's shyness. He glances up at Ohao, than back to the other two pilots, looking for an answer. "Officer Ostivort, please, have a seat," suggests Kesander to the Bith, with whom he clearly is acquainted. "Not strictly a Ghost Party here, happy to have our FleetOps brethren with us too," adds the Corellian. "We're getting to know one of our new pilots," explains Sandman. "This is Cadet Drake, who hails from Mon Calimari. Drake, this is Officer Ostivort. Dr. Ostivort to be precise. One of our finest technical experts," explains the blond-haired man, trying to be more courteous than he feels at the moment. A fleeting dark glare is briefly spared for the Imperial prisoner. Reclaiming her now replenished glass of rum, Lynae pays for the drink as she studies the room slowly. Her face is expressionless as usual, eyes neutral and intent. She sweeps the room with her gaze, noting all the faces of those present before turning her attention back to the drink at hand. The conversation at the table nearby drifts away from her presence and she drifts away from paying attention to it for the moment. "Doctor," Kyrin greets politely and formally, nodding with recognition of the Bith, remembering a certain incident aboard OS Paladin. Then her com cheeps not unlike a bird. "Sandman, I seem to recall having scheduled you and our latest Ghost for a training execise in a half-hour's time," she remarks, not answering the com. "You should not be tardy." And she smiles toward Drake politely. "Off you go now." And then her eyes drift back to Lynae calmly. "Yes, Ma'am," replies Kesander to Kyrin, standing up. "Drake, come on then. I want to see how you perform with the simulators and then we'll take a pair of real X-Wings up for a basic trial run," explains the blond-haired pilot, glancing briefly at his wrist chrono before stepping towards the exit. Ohao sees the group break up upon his arrival. Yet another instance where he kills the party. Shuffling his feet, he mutters, "Yes, well, I also have to, uh..." He throws a glance toward the door and says with a nod, "Have a good evening." With that, he quickly makes his way back toward the door. Drake nods to Kesander and stands, "Alright than" and follows him out. Managing to remain both aloof and isolated in the cantina, the presence of the guards at her side keep Lynae from being approached by the customers in the cantina. And also manage to keep customers from approaching the bar from that angle, something that has not escaped her notice. With a slight shake of her head, Lynae has her drink refreshed before standing up and beginning to move away from the bar towards a table near one of the walls. Having dismissed her two junior pilots and seen the doctor off, Kyrin rises to her feet and makes her way to the table Lynae just picked, finding herself a seat where she can have her back to the wall. If Lynae's escorts stir, she simply stares them down. Once upon a time, she could reveal a certain medal and have the Marines snap to and salute, but those days are gone. "You find all of this quite amusing, do you not?" she asks of the other woman calmly, with only the faintest trace of curiosity in her voice as she studies the former Imperial officer. "The dance the New Republic puts on to ensure your and our safety while the... how do you humans say... the pencilnecks... decide your fate?" The slightest smile graces her features as she sips her drink with almost placid motions. "The Imperial way is much more direct and efficient, one might say." And that is most definitely not a note of approval or admiration in her voice. Just the facts. "Oh I don't know," Lynae replies in a mild and empty tone of voice, "I find a great many things amusing these days. And I find a great many things to be both futile and a waste of my time. Clearly I didn't have to come here, clearly I could've hidden under another name or another guise. Clearly I could've skulked around in the grimy edges of your new, glittering city. And, just as clearly, I choose not to do so. You take this to be, perhaps, arrogance. Your perception would be wrong, but as the saying goes, it is not what others think but what I think that counts." "Your coming here is a mystery to me," Kyrin admits after a moment's thought or three. "I did not perceive it to be arrogance as such. Perhaps a desire to be the object of attention, even if there are rules placed upon your movements... as there were in your days aboard the Broadsword, only these rules are not as direct a choice as swearing service to the Empire and being required to go where it tells you to go." A glance toward the waiters' station brings a fresh-faced lad to ask the ladies what they'd like to have, although the young man seems quite impressed... and scared... of Lynae's escort. He doesn't like being stared at as if he's a potential threat to their duty... or ally to the person in their custody. "So one will ask directly... why /are/ you here?" Clearly the Chyleni is expecting some dose of truth carefully dosed with lies, but she gives a good impression of listening with her blue pointed ears after ordering a suitable snack for herself and 'whatever her guest wants'. Lynae shakes her head slightly to the lad, indicating that she requires no further sustenance as she studies the Chyleni silently for a long moment. Her right hand lifts, bringing her glass to her mouth that she may take a sip from the contents before the glass is returned to the table. Her fingertips run lightly around the edge of the glass as she speaks. "You do no know me well enough to make a guess as to my intentions, nor make any assumptions or presumptions about my motivations or movements. I will answer you question because it is you that asks it, and for no other reason." She pauses to silently study the Chyleni woman again, "I have not fully discharged my debt to Finian. He may think that ensuring that he did not die of his wounds as sufficient repayment, but I do not see it as the case. He healed the damage that would have ended my life, and it was not just the physical damage that he healed. Thus, my debt is unsettled. And I will see it through, like it or not. " Her lips quirk faintly upwards, "And clearly the good doctor doesn't appreciate my presence. I don't expect that he'll change his opinion any time soon." "He no longer appreciates my presence as well," Kyrin notes with a frown. A shrewd doctor might see how rather unhappy that thought makes her, try as she might to keep it from her face and from her body language. "However, I believe it is likely he may not consider your acts of salvation to be the repayment you would hope for. When one is gifted as he once was... loses that gift... death may be what he seeks, not what he perceives to be a half-life." She looks down at the drink in her hand, a tri-colored drink that is blue, silver, and blue again, much like herself. "It is what I would have sought, should your interrogator had done as he'd planned." Even now, she cannot say his name. Her wings, however, are visibly trembling, and she pulls them tighter to her to still them. "It is what I expected that day I was led away from your ship." Lynae silently studies the Chyleni woman, her blue eyes intent as she both listens and observes the woman, reading the so subtle shift of body language, inflection and expression. "When one looses that which one has always thought that one could not live without, one finds ones self in a unique position of wondering whether one wishes to continue living - or not. The options are not as clear and simple as they seem," she says in a cool and carefully empty tone of voice. "When something to integral to ones self, ones very definition of ones self, ones very existence, is removed for what ever reason, one may find ones self wonder what or whom one is. I suspect that this is, perhaps, a small measure of what he feels. And I further suspect that it is not your presence, Ms Sh'vani, but the memory of himself as he once was - with you - or as you remember what he once was - that he seeks to separate himself from. He cannot have exactly the life that he had. Nor does he, yet, know what life he may have. There is no going back. And if his assessment is correct, than this wound - this loss -- cannot be mended. There are some wounds, some losses, that are too deep to mend. We lose pieces of ourselves along the way, things that we cannot bear to be without. Things that we don't know how to live without. Pieces that no longer fit with the loss of others." She stops speaking abruptly, her gaze shifting inward for a moment before she blinks slowly, "But I digress." The Chyleni makes a rather non-committal sound, even as her snack is delivered, something relatively inoffensive that Ord Mantell makes well that she can stomach. It's not the same as food from home. "In a way, we are both Exiles, are we not?" she queries after a few moments, looking up as she munches on one of the bits of fried tuber after dabbing the end in a little bit of sauce. "Forced to choose a path of principle over a path of injustice and subjugation. I find that... rather ironic. Also very sorrowful. What has driven you from your people?" "Treason," Lynae says in a blunt clear voice, not shying away from the word nor attempt to deny it. "Treason against the Empire and against the Emperor himself. Conspiracy to overthrow the Emperor. Conspiracy to contemplate original thought and act upon it, I'm sure, is part of the charges," she adds in the faintest of wry tones of voice. "For these crimes I am stripped of rank, title, medals, ribbons, commission, possessions and everything but my life and the body that still breathes. So far, the experience has been delightful," and there's a wealth of sarcasm in her voice as she adds that bit. And Lynae might be speaking to one of the few people in the whole of the New Republic who might be intimately aware how treason and exile feels. And tastes. In fact, Kyrin actually looks away, putting down the bit of food she was about to consume. "I was not quite that... ambitious... before my own Exile," she remarks in a rather distant tone. "Original thoughts are not very well permitted on my own homeworld, as you might recall from our... previous time together." Then her grey eyes once more find Lynae and she asks rather bluntly, "Why would you turn against the Emperor. I thought all of you were sworn to fight for him to the death or some such nonsense." "This new emperor is of a .. leaning that I do not agree with. He appears to view the lives of his soldiers to be nothing more than marks on a table, flags to be shifted from locations. The purpose of soldiers is, as it was stated, to die. And we were not to bemoan this fact, but to accept it. To squander the lives of our men, to count them as nothing more than assets and resources," Lynae shakes her head slightly. "I signed the death certificates, Ms Sh'vani. I signed them. And I added notes to the letters sent to the families when there were families to send letter too. And I dealt the Emperors Mercy more times than I care to remember. This new emperor is not one that -- " she pauses again, cutting off her words. "At any rate, I thought that perhaps we could find a better option." "We?" Kyrin queries almost idly, going back to her eating and nodding at appropriate intervals. "I have yet to lose a person in my squadron..." she says quietly. "I am dreading that day. The day I fail those given to me to teach and protect and be responsible for. I have not signed a death certificate, nor contacted someone's family. In that, we are different. Perhaps it is because I am still new to command. I have not yet grown used to this life I lead. In some way, I still miss the home to which I can never return." Melancholy laces her voice, and even her wings droop. "There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of my parents... my father lost, my mother surviving... my clutchmates flying from tree to tree, laughing as they tried to practice the Art." Once more, her voice goes distant. "Sometimes I wonder if it is worth it, this war we fight. This freedom we fight for. Yet had I stayed passive and obedient, I would be with what is left of my family. Not here on this cold world amongst strange people and stranger customs." With a soft sigh, she uses one of those bits of fried tuber to use the sauce as a writing ink of sorts, Chyleni sigils inscribed absently on her plate, the woman not even seeing what she may be writing. "Where they give you medals for allegedly doing something that you no longer believe you have done." Her eyes focus once more and she asks, "Is it true... your Grand Admiral lives? We have heard rumors, but no one wishes to take a stance on the matter officially." Lynae's expression hardens, her eyes turning an icy shade of blue and her voice going bitterly cold, "He was alive, the last time that I saw him. And if the Emperor had been generous, I would have remedied that status. It would give me great .. great pleasure to lay the edge of my blade across the side of his neck and spill his blood and end his life." Her hands tighten slightly on the glass, white knuckled. "My sources say that this will be taken care of, and in due course, by the Emperor himself. I dearly devoutly wish that I could be present for this anticlimactic ending to the footnote that he will be in history." Kyrin actually sits up and looks at the woman she's chatting with... for the first time... as a possible acquaintance... Not an enemy. "I think there is a queue for his murder as well," she remarks in a soft tone. "Far in excess of your queue. Or my murder on the other side," she adds with a shrug. "An escaped prisoner does not look good on someone's record, if they are still alive to wallow in their new torment." Somehow, the idea of some poor scapegoat dying because she fought too hard to live... doesn't appeal to her, and her lips turn down again. "The New Republic gave me a medal for Kreldin's alleged death. When I heard the rumors, I sent it back with a note stating that the job was not yet complete. If there were a way, I would be by your side watching his death. However, the fact that he could not face us with honor simply proves that he is a coward. Or hopefully was. Perhaps we shall never know, but he is the only person in the universe other than your interrogator who I believe deserves torment for all eternity." "Unfortunately, even if there were a way, I am forbidden from entering Imperial held space, on pain of death," Lynae remarks in a dry tone of voice. "It would do me little good to finally figure out a way to get to him, only to be executed before I can even do the deed itself. Were it not for those pesky little details I'd be back in my ship and on my way to take care of the mess that is his impending death." She sighs, "But, alas, so many good ideas must be set aside because they simply won't work." "I know the feeling. I cannot go home either," Kyrin observes with another bit of a shrug. "I had to choose to move forward and learn who I could be without cultural limitations. What have you considered as your future career, since you cannot return to the Empire until and unless our side manages to take down that Emperor of yours...?" "Currently I am discharging the last of my life debts," Lynae says simply with a slight shrug. "Those that helped me, at great risk to themselves, while I was avoiding the Empire deserve nothing less than that. Finian is the last of the batch, to be frank. Once this is settled, I have tied up all the loose ends. As to the possibility of either side ever winning this war, I frankly doubt that it's possible. It's not pessimism or fatalism, Ms Sh'vani, but an assessment of the determination of the various positions of this war, and it will not end any time soon. "I agree that this war may never end," Kyrin replies in a soft and very sad tone. "Our opposing ideologies will ensure that," she adds. "Sometimes, one wonders what is the point of it all." Draining what's left of her drink, she orders a second, once more offering 'whatever her guest wants'. And then she peers as something goes wandering through the cantina that ought not to be. But as it doesn't appear to be deeply important, she ignores it and lets another deal with it. "We all fight and fight and fight... and for what? Both our sides profess to want peace, but neither side is willing to give it." "The peace that both sides want is not what either are willing to accept," Lynae says simply with another slow shake of her head. "What I would consider peace is not, perhaps, what you would consider peaceful. I consider absolute silence and the lack of others to disturb me to be utterly peaceful. It's one of the reasons I learned to pilot in the first place," she adds quietly. "So that I could have some peace and quiet. But my point is that what the Empire is willing to offer as Peace is not what the .. well what the republic would accept. Nor vise versa. Neither will accept the terms either side are willing to put on the table. Nor even agree to the placement of the table itself. No, this war will go on." Kyrin simply nods, because she's in complete agreement with what her former enemy has to say. "I find a cockpit rather peaceful myself, and unlike many of my compeers, I relish the missions where nothing happens. But do not tell them I said that," she adds in a slightly conspiratorial tone, mustering a weak smile for the lame comment. "I also find solace from the galaxy in my lost Art. In music, dance, the ways of the sacred Sands, although I have none with me or will ever see or touch them again. For all the time I spend among you humans, I am still Chyleni. I accept what I have lost." She pauses for a few moments and then adds, "But I do not like it." "As I said, we lose pieces of ourselves along the way in life. A little bit here, a little bit there until the picture that we had of ourselves - of our life - is not what we see anymore when we view it. We put in new pieces, new segments grow in to fill in the pieces. But the picture is different, it is not what we thought it would be. I admire you for accepting your loss, Ms Sh'vani, for taking what remained and forging something new of it," Lynae adds in that same quiet clear voice. "It is taking awhile to learn where I should be in all of this mess," Kyrin answers and then is about to say something more, but her com chimes again, and this is a different sound than before. "Your pardon, Captain," she says as she checks the readout. "I am needed. Safe journey," she adds with a polite farewell as she gets to her feet and pays for both her snack and whatever Lynae actually had. With a resettling of her wings and the shifting over from woman to officer, the leader of Ghost Squadron heads back to work.